


Northern Chronicles

by Chaouen



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Friendship, Post - A Feast for Crows, Romance, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-22
Updated: 2016-06-19
Packaged: 2018-02-09 23:49:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 3,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2002737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chaouen/pseuds/Chaouen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of ficlets of different styles about Sansa Stark and Sandor Clegane.</p><p>Let's be honest, mostly romantic stuff :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Christmastime

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Viento del Norte](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2002782) by [Chaouen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chaouen/pseuds/Chaouen). 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Modern AU.  
> Beta-edited by LadyCyprus  
> This text accompanies [this amazing fanart by ruebella-b](http://chaouenmadrid.tumblr.com/post/107137378809/iv-she-wont-come-you-fool-sandor-shifts-his#notes)

* * *

 _She won’t come, you fool..._  Sandor shifts his weight from one foot to the other, scanning nervously the mass of families and couples that leave the subway exit where they have agreed to meet. He feels awkward, not fitting in with the happy people and silly colored lights that fill Wintertown during the holidays. He checks his watch again, rubs his hands to keep them warm and scans the crowd for the hundredth time. A flash of shiny auburn hair finally catches his attention.  _Hells,_ she looks so pretty that she seems some else’s date. When their eyes meet across the crowd, she waves a gloved hand at him, smiles warmly, and rushes to him as if she were happy to see him too. Sansa apologizes for being late and they hesitated for a moment about what comes next, making clumsy approaches toward the other until she bursts out giggling at the situation and interlaces her arm with his as they begin to walk.

They talk as they walk quietly along the busy streets, and he watches spellbound the cold breath swirling around her lips when she smiles joyfully at his silly attempts to make her laugh. He has forgotten the Christmas carols, the lights, the people, the children playing on the snow; everything that isn’t her. During their walk, her hand has slid slowly from his forearm to his wrist and he tingles at her touch. Sandor grabs her hand and tangles his fingers with hers. He peeks out of the corner of his eye to see that she blushes and grins while looking elsewhere but, as she doesn’t release his hold, they keep walking; holding hands like two teenagers oblivious to the people around them. He isn’t fully aware of what he’s doing when he pulls her to him and surrounds her with his free arm. He doesn’t know who makes the first move when they kiss, but they both are hungry for the other and are reluctant to stop, even without the excuse of mistletoe nearby.

_Maybe Christmastime isn’t so bad after all._

* * *


	2. The Winter Lady

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta-edited by Ladycyprus

* * *

Auburn hair, inquisitive blue eyes, slender waist, elegant hands, quiet but firm voice. Master of diplomacy. Highly interested in the Arts. She combines the serene visage of her lady mother and the thoughtful nature of her lord father, historians write. _Winterfell’s Daughter_ , the chronicles of the time called her. _The Queen without Crown_ , the bards sing. _The Last wolf_ , the elders still tell their grandsons.

Many tales and legends about Lady Sansa have been told along the years. One declares that she turned into a big wolf and led the Northern army into battle. Another states that on the full moon, she visits Winterfell’s godswood and mourns for her lost kin. There is, of course, a story that discloses how she married Lord Clegane after making an unknown promise to the Maiden the spring day she finally returned to her family’s keep. However, I’ve yet to confirm the veracity of these claims.

It’s also often spoken that her mask of politeness never allowed a feeling reach her face, earning her the nickname _The Winter Lady_. Although I met her only once, one would have to be blind not to notice the spark in her eyes when she gazed upon her lord husband. There was indeed fire burning under Lady Sansa’s skin, but it was saved for a single person.

She was certainly the most unique woman of her time.

 _\- Maester Merion, The Citadel. 350 AL_ -

* * *


	3. Morning Routine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta-edited by LadyCyprus

* * *

His morning routine was easy:

 

First,

Awake;

Chase the nightmares away

Ignore the first sounds that come from the courtyard

Make her out among the furs

Check that she is not a reverie.

 

Then,

The scout;

Nibble her warm skin under his lips

Smellthe essence of her bare body

Drink in the sight of the curve of her neck

Learn her by heart with his hands.

 

At last

The daybreak;

Curse the sunbeams

That sneak through the window

Pull her to him

Engulf her in his arms

Taste her mouth without asking for permission

And tell her _Good morning little bird, I hunger for you._

_* * *_


	4. They Day the North Remembered

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not beta-edited, read on your own risk ;)

* * *

 _The Great Battle of Winterfell_ , the chronicles of the time called it.

 _They Day the North Remembered_ , the bards would sing years after.

 _The Day the Old Gods fought in their favor_ , the elders would tell his sons.

For three days and three nights thousands of northern men fought bravely at the walls of the ancient Stark’s Keep. For the first time since the War of the Five Kings, the northerners joined forces under the direwolf sigil and marched against the usurpers of Winterfell. It’s said they were led by the Lady of Winterfell and her sworn shield and closest adviser, a wild man with half his face covered by scars. According to the legend, they turned into a wolf and a huge hound and men followed them fearlessly to the battle until the castle yielded. A great part of House Frey perished that day and no sign of House Bolton was ever seen again in the North. The prisoners were sent to the Wall, with the Lady’s half-brother the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch. _Winterfell’s daughter,_ as she was called, ruled the castle for several years - the tall scarred man always by her side - until the younger wolf grew up and took his place as Lord of Winterfell. She never married again.

Many tales and legends about that time are told. One of them claims that on the full moon, if you watch closely you can be able to see a wolf and a dog walking together in the Godswood and howling at the moon, though I’ve never met anyone who can confirm if it is true.

 _\- Maester Merion, 340 AL. The Citadel -_

* * *


	5. Northern wind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not beta-edited so, read on your own risk ;)

* * *

Alayne watched The Vale of Arryn from the window of her chambers at the Eyrie. The keep was bustling with the preparations for the day; the maidens rushed from one place to another and no one seemed to be idle, save for her. She had asked specifically not to be bothered during the morning seeking for her last moments of solitude.

She bent over the stone sill of the window, closed his eyes and let the wind mess up her hair.  _I wish it was Northern Wind,_  Alayne thought,  _a strong gale that will take everyone far away._  In the distance she could hear the squawk of an eagle flying over the castle, a dog barking at the courtyard and if she struggled a bit, even a wolf's howl. She wanted to weep, but a taste of bile filled her throat instead and made her grimace.  _There are no wolves, not anymore_ , she thought bitterly as she retired from the window. She swallowed hard and stepped into the hall, lifting his head. There was a wedding to attend.

When Alayne finally stepped outside, she saw a group of hooded monks at the courtyard. She recalled that his father had told her they were coming from the Quiet Isle as their Elder Brother was going to officiate at the ceremony. She gently greeted them with a nod and continued her path until she felt one of the monk's stare fixed on her. Drawn by the intensity of those eyes she couldn't see, she watched him turn; he was tall, more than any man had right to be, with large, calloused hands and under the habit he seemed to have a warrior's body, not a monk's. The monk took a couple of limping steps toward her so she could glimpse his face. A gust of wind messed her hair up again making her shiver from head to toes.

Sansa Stark realized then that, even there might not be wolves anymore; dogs were still loyal. Her lips curled in a faint smile she knew only he would be able to see and heard him growl in what might be a chuckle. She continued walking towards the main gate, followed closely by the monk. Maybe she had been wrong; maybe a northern wind would have finally come to take them all away... and her with him.

 

* * *


	6. Her Song

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the Happiness and Lemon Cakes Fanfest on tumblr.  
> Beta-edited by LadyCyprus.  
> Warning for fluffiness ;-)

* * *

He is her counselor, her protector, her friend. He is the strong arms, the steel and the advice. He is loyal and fierce; gentle and moody, the calm and the rage. He is her freedom, her watchdog, the only one who really knows her… and the only man who has yet to ask her to dance tonight.

For the first time in a decade Winterfell’s main hall is filled with the music and light conversation of a proper ball. Lords and ladies from Houses both big and small; loyal soldiers, squires and knights;friends and allies from all across the North had been invited to attend Lady Sansa Stark’s 22nd name day feast. She had been planning the event for weeks, in spite of her council’s advice that there was no need for such spending. Clegane was opposed to the idea as well; he is not a man of parties and courtly pursuits and prefers the yard and the quiet companionship of his men instead. Sansa, however, was stubborn and insisted on the celebration, an event for her people to enjoy and remember before harder times come. She had suffered much, as had her loyal men, and they all deserve music, laughs, lemoncakes and a bit of happiness and joy, at least for a day.

The musicians are good and as Sansa knows all the songs she sings along with them. She dances with her bannermen, with young knights and old lords and even with a soldier of her garrison who has the courage to ask her for a dance. Sandor Clegane watches her dancing and laughing as he drinks quietly in his seat far from the main table; grey eyes following her as she flits around the hall, that familiarscowl on his face every time she agrees to dance with another suitor. And though it’s _him_ whom Sansa really longs to dance with, not once does he approach her to ask. So she dances and laughs and sings and dances again until her head is spinning from it all and she has to sit for a while.

It is late and yet the feast continues as she finally retires to her chambers. Her feet are tired from dancing and she is a little tipsy from wine, and so delighted that Winterfell is again a place of joy after so many years of war and misfortune. The corridor is dimly lit and quiet in comparison with the bustle in the rest of the castle, and so Sansa hears his voice before seeing him.

“Would you grant me this dance, my lady?”

Sandor’s hulking form materializes from the shadows and a big smile lights her face as he wraps his arm around her waist while taking her left hand with his right. He pulls her closer; pressing lightly on her lower back until their chests are flush, then kisses her hand lightly. “Shall we dance?”he _finally_ asks.

Sandor is smiling, and she giggles and presses closer to him as he spins her around. And, when the first notes of Florian and Jonquil float in from the main hall, she would say her feet aren’t touching the floor anymore.

_He_ _was_ _wrong,_ Sansa thinks. _Life_ _is a_ _song, and_ _mine has just begun._

* * *


	7. Dreams are made of you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes dreams become true. Or maybe it’s reality that seems like a dream?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had already posted this ficclet as a separate story, but it's so short that I think it fits better in this collection.  
> Sansa is aged up for obvious reasons.  
> Set during King's Landing era  
> Beta-edited by KBELLE1

* * *

 

He woke up in the middle of the night. It was dark and the room was lit only by a dying candle.  _You fool! You should have known it was just a dream. It was something too good to be true, he thought. How could I ever think she…?_

But when he turned back to the other side of the bed he realized she was still there, sleeping quietly with her bare back facing him. Her auburn hair was spread between them like a soft flowing river and he tangled it between his big fingers. After a while he began to stroke her neck and then his fingers went down her shoulder making their way to her waist. Her skin was like silk under his fingertips - it was warm and soft - the most delicate thing he had ever touched. His callous hand slid carefully down her belly and then made his way down to the short soft hair between her legs. He caressed her there with lust; kissing her neck at the same time, feeling how his desire grow increasingly. She moaned quietly at first and then louder when her own body reacted to his. Still half asleep she opened her eyes and a mischievous smile showed at her lips. He loved that smile since the first day he met her at Winterfell, so long ago. He'd never dared to dream she'd smile that way because of him, and kissed her eagerly and she kissed him back with the same desire. Feeling her lips on his burnt mouth excited him more than anything he had experienced before with any other woman. Her body responded passionately under his hands so he pressed her to him, went into her and made love to her again– with all the love and passion of which he was able. He tried to be careful with her; she was so fragile he feared he would hurt her. They moaned and sweated and kissed and stroked each other in a desperate way, because each of their bodies had longed for the other for too long until that night. When they were finished, he embraced her tight as if he feared she would vanish and she rested her cheek over his chest; tired and pleased.

Sandor Clegane didn't know the words to explain all of the emotions he'd felt for the last hours. There were so many things he should say to her… _I'll keep you safe until the end of time. I'll die for you. I'll kill everyone who dares to hurt you. I want you. Being with you is the only thing that has been worthwhile in my life. I hope this night never ends. I love you…_

As if Sansa could hear his thoughts she glanced at him smiling and said softly: "Me too, Sandor"

"Little bird" he muttered as he caressed her back and kissed her again before falling asleep.

Suddenly he woke up in the middle of the night. It was dark and the room was lit only by a dying candle.  _You fool! You should have known it was just a dream..._

 

* * *


	8. The Way Back Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not beta-d; read on your own risk! Set many months after the current events of my fic Fields of Gold, though there is no need to read it to enjoy this. Explicit.

* * * 

In nights like this, sitting alone in the porch I once shared with you, my mind often wanders to you; to what you’re doing right now. If you’re happy. If you’ll ever return to Invernalia. If I’ll ever see you again.

If you come back, little bird… If you come back, there are so many things I’d do to you. I’d start by kissing your pretty lips, my tongue gently swirling against yours and looking into your eyes then as I tell you that you’re mine and only mine. I’d whisper to you how much I want you and how you make me feel. How much you turn me on. How much I’ve missed you.

I’d tell you about the first time I kissed you, remember that day? How great your mouth tasted of red wine and how  _good_  your lips felt against mine. How since then, I feel like a drug addict because  _you_  are the only thing my body asks for to survive.

Then, I’d lay you down on my bed and I’d peel your clothing off, slowly, as I enjoy of your beautiful naked body. My hands would wander across your soft skin, exploring you inch by inch, cupping your breast, fingers stroking your nipples gently. They’d rub your neck, stroke your thighs, squeeze your perfect butt.

I’d roam my tongue all over you. First to your earlobe. Down your neck. Gently caressing your collarbone. Over each breast. Kissing and nibbling your nipples. Unhurriedly gliding down to your stomach, over your navel, down across your hips. Gradually moving between your legs, kissing your thighs carefully, teasing you. Listening to your breath, feeling your hips strain to feel more.  _Tasting you._

Finally, I’d set on top of you and guide my cock inside your already moist folds, thrusting into you unhurriedly at first, then faster and harder. Your nails sunk in my back. Watching every one of your reactions, listening to your moans, feeling how you tighten around me.

After a while riding you, I’d make you come - my name on your lips and yours in mine - as we climax hard, our moans reverberating through my bedroom, your legs trembling against my tights, as I whisper in your ear how  _sexy_  you are and how  _amazing_  is making love to you. Finally, I’d kiss you softly and brush your hair, before telling you I want you again…

That’s what I dream of doing to you if you ever come back, little bird; if you ever return to the place where you belong -  _next to me_. I’m so afraid that you forget the way back home…

* * * 


	9. Coincidences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And then, it happened; the biggest coincidence of my life...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not beta-edited, so read on your own risk
> 
> Loosely based on one of my favorite movies, "Lovers of the Artic Circle" (Julio Medem, 1998)

For weeks, I’ve been sitting here, atop of Winterfell’s walls, afternoon after afternoon. Watching, waiting. For a long time, I haven’t been certain about what I was trying to find out by looking at that vast white landscape that spreads in front of our main gate. A sign from the old gods perhaps? Maybe simply a coincidence, another one. 

I guess could tell my life story as a train of coincidences; of things that should had never happened but have marked my life. It’s interesting how things never were as I thought they’d be since I left Winterfell to travel South when I was still a child. How I fell and rose once and again, and survived and endured despite all odds. How I won Winterfell back against the darkest omens. A simple chance. Lives have many cycles and mine has turned several times already. But the most important thing is missing and I can’t close the last circle, not yet. And that’s why I’ll stay here as long as necessary.

At first, I thought it was mere coincidence that you found me atop of Maegor holdfast or at the serpentine stairs. I thought it was pure chance what you said to Joffrey in his nameday tourney that backed me up, or when you managed to save me from that horrible riot that haunted my dreams for months. I liked to believe it was an accident that you were at my chambers the day the Blackwater Bay burned. I’ve thought about it all day after day for years, trying to understand why it was that those moments refused stubbornly to leave my mind. Trying to figure out if it was a coincidence or not, that you never were far from me in those moments – and never far from my thoughts and prayers since then.

Now, Winterfell has been rebuilt to keep us from the hard winter, and I rule over a reborn North who loves me fiercely, though still mourns my father and brothers. And despite everything I’ve achieved, despite that the new year is already upon us I my people needs their Lady Stark to prepare for the hard years to come, I keep sitting here every afternoon, dismissing my duties and looking at the road. Watching. Waiting for… something.

And then, it happened; the biggest coincidence of my life.

I knew it was you before even watching your face. Who else would cause such a knot in my stomach with his sole presence from so far away? From my place next to the battlements, I saw your impressive figure riding in the snow towards the keep. I watched how you waited patiently for the gate to open and how my men attended you. You’ve been working with us for several weeks now; working hard, never complaining, your sword always ready when it’s needed. I’m aware that the soldiers at the keep are beginning to trust you, that you’re earning your place despite your harsh manners. I know too that we haven’t been alone since your arrival, when you pledged your sword to House Stark, however I always feel you close. I know that you look at me when you think I don’t realize of it, because I can help but tremble under your sight. Those eyes that terrified me so much when I was younger, are now freed from the rage that once filled them, though I still feel unable to hold your look for long. Yet, the reason why I can’t still do it has changed… as have you too, and somehow, that thought comforts me.

The year is about to end and people are hopeful for the new year that is coming and what it will bring to us, and expectant for the festivities. I am too. Even in the middle of this hard winter there is still hope if fate has brought you to Winterfell through the snow. It had to happen this way, I understand it now. That’s what I was waiting for this whole time without knowing it. The best coincidence of my life: the snow storm that brought you into my life again. 


End file.
